Black Diamond
by Niente Zero
Summary: How many Boy Scouts does it take to solve an attempted murder? In Canada's far north, MacGyver and Fraser find danger from more than just the harsh environment.
1. Prologue

**Note:**

**Right. I owe all of this to MacBedh. Well, not _all_ of it. I did do the writing part myself. But her help and editing assistance and encouragement has been invaluable. Vic32 has also been tremendously encouraging on the matter of writing and posting this. I hesitate to even look back to the original email I sent to 'Beth asking for Mac advice. It was a long time ago. The story still isn't complete, but it's on the way. The last chapter refuses to be finished. I'm desperately hoping that beginning to post the story will kick the end of it into gear.**

**This is my first work in the MacGyver fandom. I'm positively terrified.**

In a town hidden in the middle of nowhere in the Yukon, met with the challenge of a visiting American, the locals had hustled up enough players to go four on four in one of the toughest little games of shinny MacGyver had ever been party to.

Though the frozen pond was smaller than a regulation size rink there was still what seemed like a clear mile of wide open ice under his skates. Bumpy, yes, grooved from the skates cutting into it, and not totally smoothed over by the tiny zamboni that the players took turns driving, but beautiful. A clear mile of ice for MacGyver to move the puck down. It skipped a bit and danced up on edge on the bumps and grooves, but still fast, a black blur in front of the well-taped borrowed stick that felt like a natural extension of his own arm. He had possession and he was looking for room to pass, or slide on over the blue line and shoot a hopeful one-timer past the opposing goalie.

Most of the players were kids, barely past puberty. The ease and passion with which they skated and passed and checked like hundred and sixty pound puppies made MacGyver feel every year of his age. It still couldn't diminish the joy of facing off, skating hard, getting in his own share of checks. The captain of the opposing team was making him work to hold his space on the ice.

MacGyver was seeing a side of the serious young Mountie who he'd spent a tumultuous few days with out in the tundra that was as free as anything without wings. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, was Ben, team captain and power forward out here, and Ben was skating up to take the puck off Mac with a check that he finished all the way to the snowbank at the edge of the pond.

After all, there were a lot worse things than a little bit of rough play. Mac righted himself, clambering out of the snow, finding the rust coming off and his body remembering everything it was supposed to do here, in this moment, back on his skates and chasing ready to return the favor. Fraser was moving in fast toward Mac's team's goal. MacGyver got his skates under him and pushed off with a burst of speed, intercepting Fraser to poke the puck away from him and spin back around. Fraser turned and followed hot on Mac's heels, but MacGyver found a burst of inspiration to feint left past the defenseman and shoot a quick bad angle shot that beat Fraser's goalie cleanly. His team skated over, sticks raised in salute before they set up again for the next bout.

Fraser and MacGyver faced off. One of the other players dropped the puck, and Fraser won it clean away. MacGyver gave chase, determined not to let the Mountie score. This wasn't exactly how he'd expected to end up chasing Fraser down after their first meeting deep in the wilderness, but facing off at center ice it was a lot nicer than facing an armed Mountie on a man-hunt.


	2. Chapter 1

It was late Spring in Ivvavik National Park, on the edge of the Yukon. Sporadic swamp-edged water holes made up the landscape of the coastal plain as the winter ice crept back. Spring brought the short-lived annual burst of higher order life, including short grasses that gave very little in the way of cover. Among the nesting migratory birds a human-sized figure was bound to stand out.

Where nature had not provided, people, and particularly people with a mindset that put convenience over the landscape staying clean and unscarred, had left behind the odd handy structure.

MacGyver crouched behind the weathered shell of a transport plane that had evidently been left lying where it crashed for at least three decades. The tundra had moved in around it and softened the metal lines, but it still bore testament to a cold war practicality that forbade wasting resources hauling it out. A low sway and dip of hills, a soft undulation in relatively flat expanse of tundra had given him the chance to get out of sight, which seemed to be the smart thing to do.

Through his field glasses, MacGyver watched a lone figure crossing sure-footedly over the rugged landscape. No one was supposed to be out here, no one aside from him.

I've done my share of following and being followed, and this situation had me on edge. Technically, the hiking season in Ivvavik wasn't supposed to open until June. There wasn't a lot up there that would attract anyone with an innocent reason to be wanderin' around. The main attraction to anyone with a not so innocent reason would be the oldest of the anti-Soviet DEW line radar stations. That was up in the corner of the national park, but not really part of it. I had a bad feeling if someone was nosing around it right now, while it was only manned with one radar op. And, yeah, setting aside that I was up there alone, wandering that far North, even in the spring, alone, was just asking for trouble.

So the fact that this man'd been tracking me for the past day made me kinda uneasy. It wasn't that I was trying to cover my tracks, because I had a reason to be up here, even if he didn't. This was supposed to be half way between a vacation I could really use and a favor for a friend. I had a job to do, and a good long walk up the coastal plain almost into Alaska to get it done. I'd been looking forward to it, although I didn't much like the politics that got me picked for the job. I'd been looking forward to some time to myself, not to a game of cat and mouse with a mystery opponent.

To be wary of his mystery tracker was smart. To be annoyed at the incursion on his solitude was personal. This job was something by way of a gift, a chance for MacGyver to reawaken his senses and shake off some of the darker aspects of human nature that he had to deal with. To have the horizon open all around him, bounded only by ocean to the north and mountains to the south, and not another soul in sight had been part of the draw that made him say 'yes' to Pete's 'friends' who needed a hand. Not an official DXS hand.

So here he was, out under the open bowl of sky, endless and free. He felt more concrete and alive standing on the harsh land barely softened by the thaw. He felt that connection deep inside that could never entirely be articulated, but that drew him back out to the desert, the rainforest, back here to the tundra. The job should have given him time for the land to do its work. It shouldn't have come with the old wearying need to watch his back.

The man approaching seemed to be unhesitatingly sure about what he was walking into, moving with a hunter's grace and a particular intent. MacGyver let out a short breath. He hadn't expected trouble of this kind. The job was straightforward, as straightforward as these things came. Apart from the lingering overtones of military secrecy, that was, apart from the frissons of tension between two neighboring countries over who had military presence where, and who was playing at detente with whom.

There was the chance that this pursuit was personal. But of all the noses MacGyver had put out of joint over the years, he couldn't see anyone following him this far into the wild. It was possible that he'd run across a poaching operation, though it seemed unlikely. And his own run-ins aside, MacGyver had never been prone to the level of paranoia that would suspect the Soviets to be invading right here, right now. This DEW line station had been taken out of commission years ago and wasn't anywhere near any of the locations that were being transitioned over to form the North Warning Line. If anything big enough to be a threat was coming in, it'd be picked up there. One guy on foot didn't herald the coming of armageddon, no matter where the nuclear clock stood.

The man was getting close. MacGyver could make out the lines of a holster peeking from under his coat. That wasn't particularly reassuring. The rest of his dress gave nothing away. Clean. Well maintained. Sensible for the climate, but not too heavy. His boots appeared broken in but not broken down, he had a hat that looked like it came from a military surplus store, drill-sergeant model, and he wore a pack over both shoulders. If it weren't for the stalking, oh, and the gun, MacGyver would have made him for a hiker well off the beaten trail.

MacGyver turned to put the metal of the plane at his back, settling in an easy crouch, his pack tucked out of view beside him. The tracker would find him, but with a bit of preparation he'd get the jump on the stranger, not the other way around. The tail of the small transport plane was submerged in a small, cold pool of water, only recently ice. That meant that the stranger was unlikely to flank MacGyver from that direction.

So the man was armed. That was a disadvantage, but not one MacGyver was unused to dealing with. With his own backpack stocked with survival gear, it was an even match. He'd looked at the fishing line, lightweight, tough, and with many handy uses, including moderately dangerous ones. But rigging a trip-wire to take out an unknown entity who may by that time have pulled his gun was risky. Likewise, any warning system he could set up with it would equally warn the stranger that MacGyver was ready and waiting for him. But by staying still he had the advantage of being able to hear the tread of the sturdy boots over the delicate spring grasses.

Mac spread the contents of his pack out before him. He picked up the serrated-edge hunting knife that was a weapon as well as a tool and weighed it in his hand. Between that and the blade of his Swiss Army Knife, he could do some damage. But that assumed a level of aggression that wasn't completely in evidence. Pulling a knife would make the situation hostile when there was still a chance it didn't need to be. He set the knife back in the pack and looked at the other items. Not every weapon had to be obvious, or deadly.

MacGyver ran his fingers over the flat steel of his emergency signaling mirror and glanced at the position of the sun, low in the sky, calculating. Mac judged the stranger to be slightly shorter than him but just over his weight class, and he'd use dirty tricks if he needed to. He put everything back in the pack except the signaling mirror and a can of Gold Bond powder that he thought would ensure he got the upper hand. If he could jump and disarm the stranger, they could have a friendly talk.

Well, maybe friendly. If the man didn't have hostile intent, he'd have good reason to be hostile after MacGyver's assault. But it beat risking a gunshot wound miles away from the nearest hospital. And it definitely beat ending up dead because he'd taken a chance that his stalker was benignly inclined.

There was a hesitation in the sound of footsteps coming toward the plane. MacGyver braced, ready for gunshots. If the stranger had any kind of violent intent, there was no reason that he wouldn't swing around the nose of the plane already firing. Mac weighed the foot-powder in one hand, readying his arm to throw it. He tilted the mirror to catch the low sun. As the stranger came into his view, the only gleam of reflected sunlight was that which bounced off the mirror, flashing into the eyes of the stranger. There was no gun in evidence. The stranger threw his arm up, and Mac burst out of his crouch, tossing the Gold Bond powder in the general direction of the stranger's eyes.

With a brief, startled yelp, the stranger scrubbed his hand across his face and launched forward to meet MacGyver's attack. They rolled on the ground together in the narrow margin between the plane's body and the cold pool of water, trading the sort of punches that could be swung when each man was grappling the other.

With the benefit of sight unimpaired by astringent powder, MacGyver ended up on top of the stranger, breathlessly aware that his assessment of the other man's size and fitness had not been an overestimation. His cheekbone stung where a punch had connected. The man fought fairly clean, but he also seemed comfortable countering a move or two of MacGyver's that wouldn't quite have rated with the Marquis of Queensbury.

With one hand gripping the man's coat, what stopped MacGyver from finishing the fight with a swift right cross to the man's jaw were the entirely unexpected words that the man panted forth.

"You are under arrest under the suspicion of aggravated assault, theft, and resisting arrest, do you understand? You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay." The man shifted, twisting his hips in a way that forced MacGyver to adjust his own position, throwing his weight forward to keep the upper hand.

"We will provide you with a lawyer if you do not have your own lawyer." Again, the man shifted, this time reaching underneath his back. The move was so smooth and fast that MacGyver didn't have time to react to the possibility of a gun. The stranger's hand emerged not holding a gun but a pair of cuffs. He snapped one cuff around the wrist of the hand MacGyver held his coat with, as if cuffing people from a position of relative weakness was an every day practice for him.

"Woah, wait just a minute." MacGyver said. He hadn't even considered the possibility of an RCMP manhunt this far from civilization.

"Actually, providing you with a lawyer might be a bit of a problem." And the stranger, for all that he was apparently local law enforcement, was actually blushing a distinctive shade of crimson. He looked impossibly young, just past coltish. "You see, there _is_ a lawyer near by, and I understand that justice delayed is justice denied, but, ah, Mrs Gaskell who lives out by the old whaling station on Herschel Island got her law degree by correspondence, and frankly she's really better at civil law than criminal law, oh, and at baking butter tarts, which can be tricky depending on the humidity, but she did pass the bar, and the next nearest satellite phone is not exactly close by, but really, I would recommend that you wait and contact a lawyer in White Horse."

MacGyver was too stunned by this verbal onslaught to react as the cuff snapped around his other wrist. He'd never been handcuffed by someone he was sitting on before. There was steel in the stranger's eyes that belied the blush and his rambling rendition of the applicable section of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Aggravated assault meant that someone was seriously hurt. The set of the stranger's jaw somehow suggested to MacGyver that he was taking it personally.

"Anything you say can be used in court as evidence. Do you understand? Would you like to speak to a lawyer?"

So much for a friendly talk.


	3. Chapter 2

MacGyver rolled to one side, knee-walking off his awkward position on top of the Mountie. He held his cuffed hands out in front of him, making an effort to look reasonably harmless.

"I hope I won't need a lawyer. I think we have a case of mistaken identity. Can we talk about this?"

The Mountie pushed himself to a crouch and leaned over toward the pool of water the plane was partially submerged in, reaching out to splash the water into his eyes to clean out the irritating powder MacGyver had thrown at him.

"Don't do that!" MacGyver said, throwing himself forward to push the Mountie back off balance with the weight of his torso. "Wait!"

"That doesn't seem like talking, and I'd like to rinse my eyes." The Mountie said in a clipped tone of voice.

"Use my canteen." MacGyver gestured with his cuffed hands. "The water's clean."

The Mountie squinted, looking skeptical. "Whereas the water in this pond-"

"May be loaded with PCBs. That's why I'm here."

"Polychlorinated biphenyl? Why do you think that?" The Mountie asked, reaching for MacGyver's water canteen. He opened it and sniffed suspiciously.

"I'll drink from it first if you want." MacGyver volunteered.

"That won't be necessary." The Mountie poured some of the water into his hand and rinsed his eyes, blinking the water away. His eyes still looked sore, red and irritated, and Mac felt a qualm of conscience.

"Sorry about that." he said. "I saw you had a gun."

"Yes, well. What makes you think that there are PCBs in the local water?"

MacGyver shuffled into a comfortable sitting position and extended his cuffed hands.

"Name's MacGyver. I'm up here to collect water samples for testing by an independent environmental group. If you look in my pack, there's a route map and sample containers."

The Mountie took the proffered hand and shook it awkwardly. "Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. If you don't mind, I _would_ rather confirm your story."

"No problem." MacGyver sat back, projecting a calm confidence. Constable Fraser didn't seem impetuous, but they hadn't started off on the best foot. The young officer was being admirably cautious, and that force of determination was still written plainly on his face.

Without taking his eyes off MacGyver, Constable Fraser pulled MacGyver's pack closer. The route map for Mac's trek was in an outside pocket. Fraser looked it over, his eyes continuously shifting back up from the map to MacGyver.

Mac's expression remained open and neutral. Saying "Trust me." would be counter-productive. Besides, it'd be hypocritical. He was still more than aware that he only had Fraser's word that he was who he said he was. If he didn't trust the purported Mountie, he could hardly ask for the same trust to be extended to him. They were both in the same boat.

Fraser folded the map back up with a deft gesture and stuck it back in the pocket, then searched through the pack, pulling out hard plastic sample vials, ID labels and seals for the vials, and from an interior pocket that was supposed to be hidden, MacGyver's passport and DXS identification.

Fraser held the passport up to the light and examined it closely. MacGyver watched minute emotions chase across his face. In under thirty seconds, he looked smooth-faced and impassive once again, but Mac hadn't missed some powerful anger.

"Well, everything seems to be in order." Fraser said. He took out the key to the handcuffs and reached over and uncuffed MacGyver.

"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. However, it isn't particularly safe to be traveling alone out here, especially this early in the season."

MacGyver rubbed his wrists, more out of habit than discomfort. The cuffs hadn't been punitively tight.

"You got proof you're RCMP?" he said.

"Oh, I apologize." Fraser reached slowly under his jacket, lifting the edge of the garment to make it obvious he wasn't going for his gun. He passed over his RCMP badge. MacGyver took his time looking it over.

"Well, it looks like we're both who we said we were." he said. "But if it's not safe for me to be out here alone, it's not that safe for you either."

"Mmm." Constable Fraser said noncommittally. "And normally I would offer to render any assistance that I could in your worthy environmental endeavor, but I'm afraid I have to be on my way."

He stood and looked into the distance as if the horizon had answers for him. The anger flashed on his face, and pain, and it was obvious to MacGyver that it was all directed internally. Interesting.

"Hold on now." MacGyver levered himself up off the ground, stiff from the little tussle and feeling much older than the green kid who'd managed to get the drop on him.

"What's your hurry? You've been tracking me a while, and I know you didn't stop for lunch. You gotta eat some time, and sleep. Why don't we get comfortable for the night. I'll fill you in on the whole deal with the water testing, and we'll see if there was something I could help you with."

Oh, yeah. Those words had come out of his mouth. His mouth was going to get him into trouble some day. Well, no. It already had on more than one occasion.

Fraser stood with his hands on his hips, silent, watching the sky. The sun wouldn't set yet, not for a long while, the lazy late dusk would keep them company, and he could move on, could keep tracking if he wanted to push himself. But the man he'd been mistakenly following was not wrong. He hadn't rested or eaten all day, and now he was going to have to backtrack and start over. It was foolhardy to keep going.

MacGyver schooled himself to patience. It was really none of his business if the Mountie wanted to head off rashly into the twilight. It wasn't his fault that the man was discreetly beating himself up over tracking the wrong target. Still, he was curious as to how that had happened, and of all the company that could have found him out here and broken in on his happy solitude, Constable Fraser was certainly an interesting puzzle.

With the slightest of sighs, Fraser turned back toward MacGyver.

"Thank you. I would be happy to share a camp with you. I will be moving first thing in the morning."

The two men moved to drier ground. MacGyver set up the lightweight but sturdy tent that he was traveling with. Balancing bulk, weight, and comfort was tricky, but choosing and packing the right gear was one of MacGyver's secret pleasures of camping. He was fit enough that he didn't have to be totally picky about carrying a pound of extra weight here or there.

Fraser unrolled a bedroll, the only concession to the chilly weather a modern winter-rated sleeping bag.

"MRE?" MacGyver offered. He didn't have water to spare to heat up a dehydrated meal on the tiny Coleman camp stove in his pack. The next cache of water and food dropped for him to pick up during his hike toward the border was a half day away, and he'd spared some to wash Fraser's eyes.

"Military rations?" Fraser said. "Thank you, but I have pemmican."

"Probably tastier." MacGyver allowed. The bagged rations were not the height of the culinary arts. Pete had hooked Mac up with a supply, because taste aside, they were damn handy to fall back on in extreme conditions. He sat on his rolled up sleeping mat just outside the door to his tent and opened his alleged chicken dinner. Vegetarian would have been nicer than the mystery meat contents, but tofu was asking a bit much of the US military industrial complex.

The men ate in relatively comfortable silence. MacGyver was prepared to share more information with Fraser about his job, but not without some disclosures from Fraser first. And Fraser still seemed to be pre-occupied with the mammoth task of kicking his own butt. After MacGyver was done eating, he decided to press a couple of buttons and see what happened.

"So if you weren't looking for me, who are you looking for?" he asked.

Fraser's gaze flew up from his meager plate of pemmican. His eyes were an almost colourless grey in the dimming light and although he only met MacGyver's eyes for a few seconds, it was the penetrating stare of a man who was too old for the years he'd lived. Apparently resigned to trusting MacGyver, Fraser spoke.

"A man was beaten and robbed three days ago in his dwelling in a hamlet south of Old Crow. There was a suspect whose description matched yours." His voice lacked emotion, as if he were giving a report to a superior. "The suspect had stolen a snowmobile from the only other resident of the hamlet, who was also the only witness. He had a lead of several hours on me. I was able to follow him easily until his snowmobile ran out of fuel. He was on foot and I had reserve fuel, so I made up some time on him."

MacGyver nodded and made an encouraging sound, not wanting to break the stream of narrative.

"Unfortunately, the suspect apparently reached Old Crow and chartered a plane there. I was able to ascertain that he had been flown out to one of the campsites to the south of us in the park. I hitched a ride to follow him, but from there, I-"

Fraser's head hung down and his voice dropped slightly.

"I asked around and one of the local hunters told me he'd seen someone matching the description out here. I tracked you. When I should have been tracking someone else."

There was so much devastation even in the totally impassive tone of that sentence. Fraser was obviously used to concealing a lot from the world, but he wasn't practiced enough to get by Mac's intuition. Besides, the self-reproach which spoke so much of the arrogance of youth, unable to forgive himself a mistake, was all sorts of painfully familiar to MacGyver.

"You're sure now that I'm not the suspect." MacGyver said, neutrally, disarming the explosive silence.

"You crossed the border from Blaine, Washington, to Douglas, BC. Assuming you flew into Yellowknife from Vancouver and then chartered out from there, your passport is stamped too recently for you to have been where the crime was committed."

"Fair enough." MacGyver was impressed by Constable Fraser's eye for detail. He might look young but he was sharp.

"So you tracked this guy by plane, doesn't that put you just a mite out of your jurisdiction?" he asked, pressing for more information.

"Ah."

Even in the watery light, the delicate blush was visible. Fraser's hand came up, fidgeting at his brow.

"Well, yes. I took some leave. Technically, I will have a lot of paperwork when I bring the suspect in."

"So why'd you come all this way out?"

"There wasn't anyone else. If you'll excuse me, it's time for me to turn in."

MacGyver cleaned up the packaging from the MRE and retreated into his tent. The air was turning chilly, and he wanted to pull out his heavy duty flashlight to look over his map and think. Obviously there was a lot more driving the young constable than he'd shared. Mac's sense of justice was itching. If he could get Fraser to open up just a bit more in the morning, perhaps they could figure out together the most likely course the fugitive had taken.

Of course, that meant waking up before the Mountie made it out of camp in the morning. Mac had an inkling that wouldn't be easy. Which meant an early night - sleeping as comfortably as he could with only his intuition to assure him that it was safe to drop his guard with a stranger with a gun sleeping outside his tent.


	4. Chapter 3

The sun rose before the two campers did, but it was still early when MacGyver was woken by the flailing shadows on the wall of his tent cast by what turned out to be his new companion, clad in startling red long johns, performing a series of calisthenics interspersed with isometric exercises.

"Good morning." Constable Fraser said when MacGyver poked his head out of the tent. He looked much crisper than he had the day before, as if a night's sleep had snapped his image into focus around the edges. MacGyver paused only briefly to ponder where on earth the young Constable had found water to shave, and why he had apparently stopped to reapply what was either brylcream or conceivably seal grease to his hair before beginning his morning exercise program. Short supply of water or not, there was no dealing with this fine young Canadian apparition without a cup of coffee. Even instant coffee would do. He nodded a terse greeting and retreated to the tent to unpack breakfast supplies and regroup.

"Coffee?" he offered, setting up the compact Coleman stove and setting a minimal amount of water to boil over it.

"That would be pleasant." Fraser said brightly. The guarded emotion he'd displayed the night before was as absent as a fog melted away by sunshine. MacGyver watched Fraser pull on his practical clothes and boots, trying to fathom whether the change in feelings was real or a deception worthy of a big-time con artist. If he had a tell, a flicker of an eye or twitch of a hand, MacGyver didn't see it yet.

After a little trading, the men shared pemmican and dried fruit and nuts for breakfast, along with the instant coffee. It could have been a pleasant vacation scene, with birds wheeling overhead and the crisp morning breeze reddening their cheeks. But for all Fraser's clear-eyed innocent looks and MacGyver's determination to enjoy his sojourn into the wilderness in spite of this interruption, there was still a zinging tension between them.

Fraser interrupted the quiet repast.

"I couldn't help noticing on your map," he said, "You seem to be headed directly for a military installation. An United States military installation."

"And you were curious?" MacGyver said. It was an interesting game of trust. The gun was back in play, ever since Fraser got dressed, the holster worn openly. It was a symbol of his role out here, law enforcement in a wild area. If he decided that Mac couldn't trusted, Mac doubted that Fraser would be dissuaded from trying to take him in by any means necessary.

"Well, yes." Fraser said. "I'm not accusing you of anything." His gaze was open. "But you have to understand that there are sensitive issues involved."

"That's an understatement." MacGyver said with a wry smile. There were so very many potential problems stemming from the old installations, the potential of PCB leaks being only one of them.

"A saboteur could be motivated by anti-military feelings." Fraser said neutrally. "An agent provocateur might want to demonstrate the folly of allowing the First Nations to control such a strategic piece of territory as this park."

"A hostile spy could be looking to undermine the transition to the North Warning line." MacGyver added, with a nod. "So you think figuring what I'm really up to is more important than chasing down your suspect."

"I have a responsibility to my country. Both are important." Fraser's lips were pressed together in a thin line that might be anger, but there was no heat in his tone of voice.

"Well, looks like you'll have to decide which is more important." MacGyver said, standing. It was too cold to sit around for long, even with gloves and a hat on. The pemmican might have tasted pretty bad, but the high caloric load was a boon. The generosity Fraser showed in sharing from his store of supplies reinforced MacGyver's desire to help the Mountie get his man.

Assuming that Fraser, in all his shiny, boy scout zeal, was for real, for a man to be torn between two duties and have to choose was a tough burden. It might be one that MacGyver could use his skills to lighten. To plainly insist that Fraser trust he was telling the truth was pointless, but to question some of Fraser's assumptions might be of real help.

"Maybe there's a compromise. You had a reason to think your guy would be headed in this general direction when you followed me?"

Fraser rose, a thoughtful expression on his face as he surveyed the landscape around them.

"I did." he said.

"So don't start backtracking just yet. Head out with me, and maybe I can help figure out which way he'd go, logically. That way you can start out without having to go all the way back to where you got the lead on me. I'm not that bad of a tracker, and as a bonus you get to keep an eye on me."

The look of indecision was gone instantly from Fraser's face.

"That sounds more than fair." he said. As he started to roll up his sleeping bag, he threw over his shoulder, "I'm sorry to make you feel as if you're under suspicion."

MacGyver grinned to himself as he disassembled the tent and scoured the area to make sure that he wasn't leaving anything that would have an impact on the fragile environment of the reserve.

"Gotta say, you're the most polite suspicious cop I've met." he said.

"Ah, now you're trying to provoke my curiosity." Fraser said dryly, proving that he had a sense of humor, if barely enough to register on any scale.

The two men were so thorough in their swift cleanup that it was impossible to see that anyone had passed through recently. It wasn't necessary for either of them to take charge, and neither of them commented on the basic competency, but the mood between the two was distinctly warmer as they set out with the sun at their backs.

The DEW line station that MacGyver was headed toward was due North West of the small camp, along the shoreline at Komakuk beach. MacGyver set the pace. It was his trail.

Fraser had taken one more glance at the map and agreed on a destination for the morning. It would only be seven miles of hiking but that would be enough, particularly with a soft Southerner along, unused to the cold and how much energy it took to stay warm and hike. There was a reason the official hiking season was a brief two months at the height of summer.

"So you thought your guy was making for the border?" MacGyver asked.

"Indeed. He'd traveled far enough by plane that I assumed when he was forced to progress on foot, the border into the United States would be the most logical place toward which he would flee."

"You know he went on by foot."

"The charter plane doesn't fly on from the town that I tracked you from, only in to it, and there were no local sources of transportation for hire. Besides which, the roads from there to the border would require him to loop far South and I thought that unlikely."

"Okay, so I assume whatever the guy stole has a market value that doesn't change if he moves it, and is as easily fenced in the States as in Canada."

Fraser's pace stuttered, and it took a moment for him to recover his easy stride.

"It isn't easily sold?" MacGyver pressed.

He could practically feel Fraser's examining gaze. The Mountie was skittish, but it seemed as though he was fighting a basic instinct to put his trust in his fellow man. Suspicion didn't come easily to him.

The path was easy. It was no big deal to walk on and divide attention between pointing in the general direction of the station, making sure to pass in a wide sweep around a small breeding ground of what must be the far-traveling Arctic Tern, and watching Fraser from the corner of his eye.

"It's complicated." Fraser said, finally.

"Look, you might as well tell me what's going on. If I'm part of the plot I know already anyway." MacGyver said, reasonably.

"Well, that's true." The logic seemed to settle the matter for Fraser.

"The man who was robbed was a friend of mine."

It was on the tip of MacGyver's tongue to comment that this explained why Fraser was so eagerly hunting the criminal, but he had the smallest inkling of instinct that that wasn't the only motivation, and he'd really put his foot in it if he made that assumption.

"He lived in an isolated cabin. My normal patrol route doesn't quite cover it, but my commanding officer has been kind enough to allow me to extend the patrol slightly so that John Patrick wasn't left stranded should he be in need."

"That was good of you."

"It was my duty. John Patrick is a good man. He had his reasons for wanting to live alone. We disagreed on a lot of things, but he didn't deserve to be attacked in his own home."

"What did he have that was worth trekking out to his cabin and attacking him?"

"John Patrick has spent time in several countries. Most notably, South Africa, and more recently, Australia. To be specific Western Australia. He is a geologist."

MacGyver drew in his breath sharply. "Diamonds. He thinks there are diamond deposits worth mining in Canada?"

"He told me almost as much as that. He was very careful with his information. It's more that there are some geological formations that might, possibly, be suggestive of the presence of diamond-bearing rock. He traveled far and wide in the Yukon and North West Territories in his exploration."

"So the thief took-"

"A lot of John Patrick's paper's were gone. If one were inexperienced with the mining industry, one might think that a map with areas marked on it was as good as a treasure map.

"Sorta 'dig here' and you get diamonds?"

"It's possible. A smarter man might know that the documents were really only of use to build a prospectus to interest a larger corporation in spending the money on exploration. But I'd think a man who knew that wouldn't be crude enough in his theft to attract immediate attention. John Patrick was unconscious when I found him. He must have been knocked out during the theft."

Fraser's voice dipped so low that it was hard to hear it over the soft sound of the wind through the grasses at their feet.

"When he was airlifted out, he hadn't regained consciousness. If John Patrick isn't very fortunate, the criminal will be guilty of murder."


	5. Chapter 4

_Funny thing about perceptions. Most things have more than one way of being looked at, depending on how you go about looking. Take milk; to a city kid, it comes in a carton and it's good with cookies. To a country kid it's a bit more complicated, but it's still dairy. Or you could look at it as a colloid with basic building blocks of fat surrounded by proteins. The predominant protein is casein. Mix milk with vinegar and you can make a simple form of plastic. Seeing the building blocks is how I tend to see the world, and some times that's good, sometimes that's bad._

_Now, land, that's something that people see in a lotta different ways. This piece of land up in the Arctic, to some people, it's sacred. Some of 'em are worried about protecting the delicate habitat. Every year, the Caribou migrate through here to breed. A lot of people, way down south in the US, see it as a strategic asset. But this John Patrick, he's a geologist. So you gotta figure he sees the building blocks, the mineral markers that say pretty clearly that there's something worth digging up in the ground. For diamonds, you look for Kimberlite. Finding John Patrick's 'X Marks the Spot' meant being able to look at the land the way he did. Problem was, I might know what kind of terrain would have Kimberlite pipes scattered through it if we were down in Tanzania or South Africa, but in the Arctic I had no idea._

_And Benton Fraser, however he usually saw the land, right now just saw it as an obstacle between him and the man he was hunting. The man who might be wanted for murder._

MacGyver gave Fraser's declaration about the serious condition of the victim the solemn weight that it deserved, stopping to think rather than reacting with a casual platitude.

"If you're gonna get your man, we need to figure out where John Patrick thought the diamonds were. Did he say anything, or did you see anything when you were visiting with him that might give you an idea?"

Fraser made a frustrated noise. "My pursuit has been single-minded with the idea that the miscreant was merely fleeing from me rather than toward something. The man who taught me to track when I was a boy would be ashamed. He told me you have to look to where the animal is going, not where it's been."

"Not much point beatin' yourself up about that now." MacGyver said. "What have we got to go on?" He'd love to know why Fraser had been so convinced that a man would light out on foot across frankly harsh terrain to avoid Fraser's pursuit, rather than guessing that the thief would go for the potential diamond haul, but that wasn't a question for right now.

"I am sure that John Patrick left some clue, but you must understand - he knew that I did not share his feelings about the use of the land, and he was circumspect out of respect as much as out of caution." Fraser said. A distant look came over his face, and he stopped still, thinking.

To the left of the two men, low to the ground, MacGyver saw an arctic fox trotting along, her fur no longer the pure white of a winter coat. There must be a den around with kits in it. MacGyver was comfortable with his ability to negotiate the terrain up here, and even to see enough of the patterns of movement of wildlife not to run into hostile bears or scare off a mother animal from her newborn offspring, but to be able to read all of the signs of the cryptic land was another story.

"Cloudberries." Fraser said.

Mac waited patiently for more information. He could see a light of discovery on the young Mountie's face.

"John Patrick always had a bowl of cloudberries on his table last summer."

"So wherever he was exploring, it was arctic tundra, not up on into the taiga or mountains." MacGyver concluded.

Fraser looked as if a weight had been lifted from him. "Yes. At least my mistake didn't lead me too far astray."

"That's still a lotta territory to cover."

"There has to be something more. Something more specific." Fraser said. He shook his head and looked at the ground, as if the spoor of his prey would appear there. Suddenly, Fraser's head snapped up, and he fumbled in his pocket.

"John Patrick gave me this." It was a rough rock, barely more than a pebble, polished up on side to reveal a chip of purplish stone. "He didn't tell me where he found it, but I think it was one of the signs that made him believe there might be diamonds to be mined."

"Garnet." MacGyver said, holding the small rock in his hand. "Yeah, that makes sense. If this rock could talk, it could tell us where your man was headed."

"Do you know much about diamond mining?" Fraser asked.

"This and that. I've got way more experience with oil, for what that's worth. Not enough to take a look at a map and guess where the best shot would be up here. Is there anything at all else you can think of?"

Fraser shrugged, his firm posture sagging in disappointment with himself. "Not at present. We had best carry on."

"Couple of miles I need to stop to take water samples." MacGyver said. "Then we'll be nearing the drop with clean water."

As they continued on, MacGyver could tell that Fraser was still preoccupied. Cloudberries and garnet were little enough to go on, but if the man were as whip-smart as he looked to be, he was sorting it all through, making leaps of intuition and reaching conclusions that would be dangerous to the man he tracked.

For MacGyver himself, the very active birds were enough to capture his attention and imagination. There were more species of birds to note than any other animals, and it was with a thrill of delight that MacGyver recognized the sleek-winged form of an arctic tern swooping nearby. He felt a kinship with a creature that traveled so far, traversing from the farthest south to the farthest north every year in a wild loop. It was a rare treat to see this bird on land, the wanderer only coming in to settle for a short breeding season. Aside from the nesting, the wandering life with only short junctures at home resonated with MacGyver. Whether he couldn't settle, or he wouldn't, the fact was that he really never had. He had a place to lay his head when he was in Los Angeles, but that wasn't the same as a home to go to.

Fraser came to a halt.

"This is approximately the spot which the co-ordinates on your route map indicated as the next sampling region." he said. The route had taken them close to another small pond.

MacGyver pulled out his compass. His eyes widened and he whistled softly under his breath. Fraser's reckoning was dead on.

"Wanna give me a hand?" MacGyver said, kneeling and opening his pack.

"I would be delighted." Fraser took the vials as MacGyver gave them to him, three small containers, each with a label on them.

MacGyver handed Fraser a pen. "Fill those and mark 'em with the co-ordinates and the date, and your initials, please. I'll fill the log in."

The two men worked quickly to collect, seal, and document the samples.

"I hate to think that the Inuvialuit lands and waters have been poisoned this way." Fraser said as he handed the containers back to MacGyver who stowed them securely in his pack.

"I'm hoping we'll find the pollution isn't widespread." MacGyver said. He got to his feet and held his hand out to help Fraser up. He took a look at his compass and headed them in the direction of the cache of clean water and food.

Fraser held his tongue for a minute and then said, "You hope the pollution isn't widespread. Yet you're testing the waters in a wide area."

MacGyver grimaced. "Between you and me, I figure it's obvious the source of the PCBs is the DEW line station. Fifties construction, fifties modern materials, paint and plastics. But that's not a scientific answer and we have to show that there isn't another source."

"If the concentration were greater, perhaps, closer to an area that had offshore oil exploration."

"Yup. That'd get the US Government off the hook."

"And the Canadian Government would be responsible for upholding the spirit of its agreement with the Inuvialuit people. You said you knew something about drilling for oil."

"That doesn't mean I want to see land like this exploited for it." MacGyver retorted sharply to the unveiled accusation present in Fraser's voice. "Makes me glad the people negotiated that there'd be no chance of development."

"But either way."

"My job is to get the samples and find out who's responsible and how far the problem spreads. If it's the DEW station, the governments will have to fight it out, but someone'll answer for it."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"That simply surprises me, coming from an agent of the United States Department of External Services."

MacGyver snorted. "I'm not exactly here to say, 'My country, right or wrong.'" he said in a sarcastic drawl. "But it did make it easier to get me access right up close to the DEW station, even in a kinda unofficial way."

Fraser gave him an unreadable look and MacGyver guessed that a little matter like a military installation and inadequate clearance wouldn't stop Fraser if pursuit of his target should lead in that direction. That was something they had in common. Connections were useful, but there'd been plenty of times when he couldn't rely on official access. That'd never stopped him being where he needed to be.

Another hour's walk brought the two men in sight of the cache of water and food, which was dropped in a precise location to make it easy for MacGyver to find. The parachutes deployed to drop it were brightly colored so that it stood out against the softly tinted spring landscape.

Fraser stopped several feet from the cache.

"I think I have determined a direction in which to search." he said. "I don't believe that it coincides directly with your path any more." He smiled slightly, the tension on his face lightening for a moment. "I also believe that you are who you say and are most probably not here for nefarious reasons. Now that you have reached food and water, I think it's time for us to part ways."

"Sure, but you'd better take some of the water." Mac said, making short work of untangling the parachutes and opening the pallet of supplies. The water was in two gallon, collapsible containers. It was a lot of weight to carry, but they were designed to strap onto his pack with flexible webbing. More than enough for one person had been provided in case of emergency. MacGyver wasn't sending Fraser off on his own without a clean supply.

"Thank you." Fraser took the generosity without argument. It was the way of things in the wild back country. If you had supplies, you made sure that even a stranger was taken care of, because you never knew when it'd be your turn to need that helping hand.

MacGyver watched the retreating back of the Mountie, with a certain feeling of unease. The man was definitely a competent woodsman. He'd give Mac a run for his money. But something about the situation just set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.


	6. Chapter 5

The afternoon passed in a delicious peace for MacGyver. He'd quickly set aside the niggling concern about Fraser. Time like this was a resource, a scarce resource, one not to be wasted. Even the potential of invisible poisons in the sparkling clear water that he was sampling wasn't enough to sour Mac's mood. A flock of snow geese flew over head making a wild and joyful noise. A part of Mac's mind noted the awesome wing span, the crisp economy of flight. Another part of him unfurled free in the joy of motion, the sharp contrast of the dark wing tips against white, the whole a dazzling picture in the crisp, clean air. Here, the world wasn't one piece of stupidity away from nuclear crisis, one piece of greed away from drowning in a sea of guns and drugs, one bad choice or piece of bad luck away from a new disease that seemed to spread fear and ignorance in its path like a wildfire. To become jaded by the mess the world was in was a mistake; but hard to avoid with all that he saw. If the price of optimism was swinging more jobs like this and fewer that took him into the sewers of humanity, it would almost be worth letting Pete manipulate him more often.

Late in the afternoon, MacGyver checked his watch and map. The morning would be soon enough to finish the hike to the DEW line facility. It felt good to slack off, set up his bedroll and tent and watch the sky and the wheeling birds. It felt great to let his thoughts wheel aimlessly too. He wondered if Fraser had caught up with the suspect yet. Probably so; the Mountie motto might officially be Maintenant Le Droit, but Fraser seemed like the sort who always got his man.

MacGyver pulled a blanket over himself and watched as the sky darkened. It was too late in the spring to expect to see the Aurora Borealis, but the view was magnificent anyway. Maybe he'd have to come back later in the year, in the fall or winter, make a trip to Aurora-spot. Maybe he could drag Pete out of the office. Or, better, some congenial female company.

_It was a calm night. It wasn't the furthest North I've ever made camp, but the temperature would dive low enough that I had to make sure to take precautions against hypothermia. But even that couldn't take away the pleasure of the peace and quiet, and I slept as easily as I ever have._

_The day broke clear as the one before it, and I actually found myself missing Fraser's company at breakfast. He wasn't bad over coffee, might make a good hiking buddy under different circumstances. I checked all my supplies over, packed up, and made sure I didn't leave anything littering up the camp site. The hike was pretty much directly to the north west, putting the sunrise at my right shoulder. I had a couple more samples to pull from the local creeks before reaching the DEW line base but it didn't promise to be a heavy day's work._

_I was lucky I caught the sight of a camp fire well before the occupants caught my silhouette against the sun._

MacGyver was flat to the ground immediately he saw signs of other human habitation. The odds of running into yet another party where they ought not to be without it being related to the case Fraser was on were approaching zero. Smart money was on trouble, and a sneak peek through binoculars confirmed something of MacGyver's suspicions. Down in the rough camp two figures sat by the fire, one cleaning a rifle. The sound of their conversation carried as a muted chatter in the air, audible if listened for but not comprehensible from this distance. There were a couple of tents haphazardly pitched, and there was Fraser's pack, his hat and the container of water that he'd been carrying. And neither of the figures by the camp fire had short, dark hair. Which left the whereabouts of the Mountie troublingly unknown.

MacGyver settled in for surveillance. He wiggled down into a comfortable position in soft scrubby bushes that might, in summer, bear the cloudberries Fraser had talked about. MacGyver propped himself up on his elbows with the binoculars tilted carefully to avoid picking up light and flashing a warning of his location to the camp below. It was almost a relief to know that his gut instinct about Fraser finding trouble was correct; except that there was nothing to suggest that the men below hadn't simply killed the Mountie. The assault on the geologist had apparently been enough to count for attempted murder; far out here where there was no one to witness violence being done but the birds and the land, the criminal might have had no compunction about simply shooting Fraser. MacGyver could picture the scene, picture the cocky and idealistic Mountie simply walking into that camp without precaution and declaring the men under arrest. He just could not afford the distraction of picturing Fraser taking a bullet or a fatal blow for his presumption.

MacGyver wasn't so focused on the scene below as to miss the very quiet sound of someone moving behind him. The soft movements were as light as it was possible to be in the short grass. MacGyver rolled up into a defensive kneel, still cautious against the probability of making an obvious shape visible against the horizon. His face split into a grin when he saw the battered but nevertheless quite evidently alive figure of Constable Fraser approaching in a similarly cautious crouch.

Both men dropped back down to the position from which MacGyver had been surveiling the camp below. Wordlessly, he handed the binoculars to Fraser, who peered through and nodded. The two men were still sitting by the fire.

"They don't seem to have noticed that I have evaded the captivity into which they placed me." Fraser said in a cautious, low tone, not a sibilant whisper that might carry with the wind.

With neither a hissed question or a waving hand to demand some kind of explanation from Fraser for his current location and condition, MacGyver was left only with a sharply raised eyebrow to make his point. Both men understood that until they were ready to make a move one way or another, it was essential to keep the men in the camp below in sight.

Fraser's hand came up to rub against his eyebrow in a nervous action. He caught himself and stilled. This was not the best hunting blind. MacGyver took in the darkening bruises on Fraser's face. There wasn't serious damage but it didn't look pretty, and it hadn't escaped his notice that the Mountie was moving stiffly. Beyond curiosity about what had happened, MacGyver was more concerned that Fraser's zeal for justice might mean that he was planning a renewed attempt at an arrest that was difficult without backup.

His mind started sketching out rapid plans for how they could take out the two men between them, regardless of the hunting rifle. He and Fraser had the higher ground and the element of surprise, but that probably wouldn't last for long. His calculations came out at too high a risk for the probable reward.

"We need to get out of here." he said as softly as possible.

Fraser looked very much like he wanted to argue. He looked back down at the small camp, then back at MacGyver. A light gleamed in his eyes and he rolled slightly so that his back was angled toward the camp, concealing the motion of his hands.

"Do you sign?"

The question, posed by hand gestures, would have been rather moot if MacGyver wasn't familiar with American Sign Language. But it was a solid leap of intuition and MacGyver nodded and shifted so that small motions of his hands would not catch the attention of the men in the camp below.

Fraser signed to the effect that he needed to go back down and arrest the two men. MacGyver was fascinated to see that even in a non-verbal language Fraser sounded formal and stilted. It was obvious that he'd learned his sign language from a book, rather than in a classroom or from interacting with Deaf people. It was also time consuming because he was reaching for verbs and syntax that really didn't belong in the language. And it was impossible to read his face; his entire communication rested in the hands, rather than in any sort of expression or the smallest motion of the rest of his body. MacGyver could almost hear a HAL-like robotic voice as he watched the hands. That didn't stop him from replying swiftly to Fraser's suggestion.

Mac gestured an emphatic no, including every possible expression of frustration at the foolhardy suggestion. He quickly signed that the best course of action was to retreat, regroup, and call in the cavalry.

To Fraser's credit, he was a quick study and his signed reply was much less stilted and more fluid as he argued against leaving and giving the two villains below the opportunity to get away.

It was almost as difficult for MacGyver to be 'quiet' in his signed argument as it would have been if he could give full voice to his argument. He had a need for expressive, expansive gestures to make his disagreement known. That would give them away as surely as raising his voice. He kept his hand motions small but nevertheless definite and emphatic. He backed a statement that he was going for help with or without Fraser, with the appropriate action, a slow and low retreat back out of the sight of the camp.

Fraser still had an expression of mulish stubbornness on his face when he joined MacGyver at the base of the small rise from which they'd been watching the camp.

That didn't bother MacGyver too much. It didn't matter if Fraser wasn't happy with the decision as long as he hadn't gone and thrown himself headlong into danger again.

The hill was enough barrier that they could again speak freely, if quietly. "Those miscreants may notice my absence at any time. If we are not to arrest them at this time then we should remove ourselves from the vicinity without delay."

MacGyver looked heavenward for a moment. Finally some sense.

"That we should. I figure the DEW station's our best bet. We can make radio contact with your HQ from there."

Fraser looked mildly worried. "Yes. I'm sure that appropriate support will be dispatched upon my report."

MacGyver ignored the hesitancy in Fraser's statement. That was something to worry about later. Orienting himself for the best approach to the DEW Station he stood.

"Ready to go?"

Fraser nodded. "Let's be on our way."

The two men moved quickly through the low grasses, Fraser seeking no concession and MacGyver offering none for his evidently bruised and stiff state. The Mountie seemed to fall firmly into the "walk it off" camp of injury management. After his run in with the two criminals, Fraser no longer had his pack or his gun. From his body language, the Mountie had been more bothered by the loss of his hat than any of his other accoutrement, regardless of their tactical advantages. Even now he reached up as if to settle his hat more comfortably, stopping with a crestfallen expression when he realized he was without it.

"So how did those guys get the drop on you?" MacGyver asked, genuinely curious. The criminals didn't appear to be particularly at home in the wild. They certainly hadn't appeared to have the necessary skills to outfox a woodsman like Fraser.

"Ah. Well." Fraser ducked his head slightly, looking at his boots, before looking back up at MacGyver. "It wasn't so much that they got the drop on me as that I failed to make the intended arrest."

There was a long pause before he continued. "While we were walking yesterday morning I had been considering the presence of the jasper and the cloudberries John Patrick always foraged. I remembered him talking about how unusual this part of the Yukon was, because it was not heavily glaciated."

MacGyver nodded his head. That was what one of the things that was special about Ivvavik. It was an oasis of life compared to much of the barren arctic territory around it.

"It seemed as though that had some significance to John Patrick. He never mentioned a particular place or even a direction, but from my own travels over the years I remembered that there was a glacial basin, sink hole really, next to a hill that is simply covered with berry bushes in summer. There are a lot of other places to collect berries, and a lot of other sinkholes and glacial run offs, but I took a guess on the two being together and made straight toward this place."

It was more of a hunch than solid deductive reasoning, but MacGyver had to honor the other man's instincts, because obviously they had been correct.

"Late in the afternoon yesterday I arrived at the hill on which you were concealed, and observed the camp below." Fraser blushed again, that striking shade of red. "I didn't wish a repeat of my misapprehension regarding your activities."

"Not a problem." MacGyver said. "We got it sorted out soon enough."

"At any rate, from that position I observed that the singular gentleman below had some possessions, gauges and hammers and such, that I knew to belong to John Patrick. And he did actually bear a startling resemblance to you."

"Good to know." MacGyver said ruefully. Just what he needed, a violent thief running around the arctic looking like him.

"The second gentleman was away from the camp at the time, and although I could tell that two of them had been present, I felt that this was an opportunity to capture the first alone."

After this, there was an even longer pause. MacGyver took the opportunity to look back and make sure that they weren't in imminent danger of being shot at but there was no sign of pursuers.

"So..." MacGyver prompted eventually.

"Oh. Well, so then I walked into the camp and announced to the gentleman present that he was under arrest for the assault and robbery of John Patrick. He presented an argument to the contrary but I subdued him before he was able to produce a weapon, and had him cuffed. Unfortunately, during the scuffle I lost track of the location of the second man, who took the opportunity to render me unconscious."

Fraser rubbed at the back of his head.

So it had gone down almost entirely as MacGyver imagined. The Mountie had grit, but his common sense had some catching up to do.

"I believe during my brief insensate period the men took a little revenge for my attempt at arresting the first man. By the quality of light, I wasn't out for long. By that point my hands were tied and I was concealed in one of the two tents."

"Just your hands." MacGyver said with a small grin. "Well, that explains why you weren't still in the tent when I ran across the camp."

"Indeed. While I may have been inept in my arrest, those two are not practiced at criminal endeavors. I did discover one matter of concern."

MacGyver's eyebrows raised as he waited to hear what counted as a matter of concern. The Mountie was so hard to read that it could be anything from the criminals failing to observe proper flag etiquette to a concealed thermonuclear device.

"While the first man looked a lot like you, the second man bore his own striking resemblance. To John Patrick. And while I doubt the first man is any relative of yours, I'm afraid that conversation revealed that the second man is John Patrick's younger brother."


	7. Chapter 6

MacGyver shook his head at Fraser's revelation. Family could be hard.

"Guess that explains how your suspect knew about what John Patrick was lookin' for out here."

"Yes, it does," Fraser said. He pulled the jasper out of his pocket and looked at it. "I hate seeing greed tear brothers apart. John Patrick's brother was so very angry that although he and his confederate had the map, there was nothing out here that he could dig up and recognize as a diamond."

"Were they going to keep digging?" MacGyver asked.

"It seems for a while at least. I believe they intended to set me to work at that. I should be thankful that neither of them were particularly well inclined toward mornings, or my escape would have been noticed a lot sooner."

"We can't have a whole lot of time before they figure out you're gone. They're going to have to get after you."

"Yes. They only have one rifle, but if either of them is a decent shot we could still be in difficulties," Fraser said.

It struck MacGyver as slightly funny that after all the trouble that Fraser had trusting him in the first place, now that the trust was established, Fraser was utterly taking it for granted that they were functioning as a team. It made some things easier. It was definitely better than sharp-eyed suspicion from the Canadian. There was no way he was going to voice the words on the tip of his tongue: "What do you mean, _we_?"

"We're only a couple of miles away from the station," MacGyver said. "If we can pick up our pace and cut across toward the shore we should be fine."

In most buildings, the giant geodesic dome that housed the station's radar antenna would have been the most striking feature, standing out against the stark arctic beach and wine-dark sea like the scouting craft of an alien invasion. There was absolutely no question that the globe, elevated well above the ground, was eye catching. Both men stopped involuntarily when the glimmering shape appeared on the horizon before it.

Behind the geodesic dome, looming even larger and more imposing, were two White Alice communication towers, silhouetted black against the bright light of mid morning. Scaffolding showed at the edges, lacy compared to the sheer, rigid solidity of the antennae. At the right angle, it was possible to see that the towers were built in massive curves, not the sheer monolithic rectangles that they appeared from front on.

If the morning had started with a sense of peace and calm, the DEW Line facility was a concrete reminder to MacGyver of the fragility of any such peace; the constant readiness for war the world stood at, his own role and burdens dropping back onto his shoulders. This facility stood as a symbol of the obliterating forces held by both the United States and the Soviet Union, the threat of a nuclear end to everything.

Fraser shook his head and said quietly, "Your political masters must be relieved that Trudeau and his ideas are a thing of the past."

"How about you?" MacGyver challenged. "You agree with what he said about America?"

"That the United States is more of a threat to Canada than the Soviets?" Fraser tilted his head to one side. "No. I wouldn't say that. I would say that any government that thinks that a problem can be solved by building a bigger arsenal is a threat to the entirety of the human race. Trudeau was dangerously naive if he didn't see that that applied just as much to the Soviets as to your government."

"We can definitely agree on that," MacGyver said.

"Indeed," Fraser concurred. "At any rate, this is not the time for me to be behaving as an ungracious host in our country."

"This'd be a good time to head on in and make ourselves known to the skeleton staff. See if what they've got by way of first aid and I could really do with something hot to drink to get warmed up." MacGyver said.

"And if nothing else, the presence of giant antennae is reassuring on the radio messaging front," Fraser said.

A narrow road crossed the course the two men were on. It led around to what was evidently the entry way to the facility. A hundred yards along it, the men ran across a cheery green road sign proclaiming the goat trail to be Dew Line Road. It was an odd sign of non-militarized civilization in a landscape split between sheer wildness, land and sea, and the technological hallmarks of a century filled with conflict.

The facility was protected by a surprisingly fragile chain link fence. For the decades during which it had been most active, human guards had been the main line of defense. In place of human guards a series of cameras mounted at the fence posts now watched the men approach.

Fraser wasted no time walking up to the nearest camera and waving cheerfully. It was an unorthodox way of getting onto a military facility. Mac shook his head and stepped forward so the camera could see him too. It didn't look like today was going to be the day the young Mountie learned caution. After a few minutes a vehicle appeared from behind one of the buildings and drove toward them.

The vehicle was odd and old, looking like a refugee from the sixties with a long rounded body like a cross between a VW bus and a submarine. It had four wheels on each side and a round window over each of the wheels. The driver's door opened and a middle aged man in an immaculate USAF uniform bearing a Sergeant's insignia stepped out.

MacGyver took in the man with interest. His rank seemed low for his age, assuming that he was career military. Given his age, that seemed probable. And here he was in the middle of nowhere, the only person they'd seen evidence of on this nearly-decommissioned base. The rifle in his hands was a matter of no surprise, but it did prompt both Fraser and MacGyver to raise their hands in a show of passivity and harmlessness.

"This is an United States Military Base. State your business," the Sergeant said in a voice that sounded rusty from lack of exercise.

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, at your service." Fraser said, reaching for his hat to remove it respectfully and wincing minutely at its absence. "And this is Mister MacGyver. He has business in this vicinity for your DXS." Fraser leaned in toward the wire fence almost confidentially as he said that. "As for me, I have business in the pursuit and apprehension of suspects in a crime, but Mister MacGyver has persuaded me of the necessity of seeking your hospitality and facilities in contacting, well, back-up."

The Sergeant stepped toward them, gesturing with his rifle for them to approach the gate. His face was unreadable.

"I'll have to see your papers. What crime are you investigating, Constable?"

He swung the gate open wide enough for Fraser to hand through his badge and MacGyver his passport and DXS identification.

"The assault of a man near Old Crow earlier this week."

"Kind of far to follow someone. Are you sure you're in pursuit of the right suspect?" the Sergeant asked with a look of sharp suspicion.

"Quite sure. If I had not been confident, I have since encountered the suspect at close range," Fraser made a wry face. "Furthermore, the suspects were not sanguine about the possibility of apprehension and were in pursuit of us in their turn, so if you could be so kind as to accommodate us?"

The Sergeant handed back the documents without taking his rifle off the two men. "Everything does seem to be in order. You'd better get in here."

"Thank you Sergeant- I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Fraser said politely as the Sergeant opened the gate wide enough to allow them onto the facility and then locked it closed behind them.

"Gosset," the Sergeant said as he herded them toward the transport vehicle. The interior was just as ancient and dilapidated as the exterior. There was plenty of room to sit on benches along the sides though, and MacGyver sat down and stretched his legs out. It was good to be off his feet. It was also nice not to have a rifle pointed at him.

"Sorry about the ride," Sergeant Gosset said. "We're on skeleton crew and all the modern vehicles have already been moved. Actually the other man who should be here right now to help me finish with the decommissioning activities just got flown out two days ago for a medical emergency. Bad place to be sick."

MacGyver and Fraser shared a glance. Even armed, even having seen their papers, it was a big risk for Sergeant Gosset to allow them onto the base while he was alone. It was the sort of thing that he'd almost certainly face discipline for, even if they were both grateful for his decision. Maybe it accounted for his failure to rise through the ranks, that he was too credulous. Or maybe there was something else to it. After all, nothing had been going smoothly.

It was a short drive over rough ground to the wooden buildings that made up the main working and residence area of the base. The buildings were completely unadorned, grey and grim with age, raised on bases to allow airflow under them. Between some of the buildings were elevated, closed-in walkways built on the same unadorned rectangular model. It reminded MacGyver of one of the many reasons he was not cut out to be a military man. There was no real word for it, in contrast with the sheer man-made spectacle of the dome and the massive curved radio tower, and the overwhelming natural beauty all around, no word for the huddled grey blocks of buildings except 'soulless.'

There was a sound of machinery, a dull hum that picked up the closer they got to the buildings. Sergeant Gosset drove up into an elevated building. It was obviously what used to be the motor pool, but equally obvious was how near to desertion it was. There was one other of the strange vehicle they rode in, except apparently rigged for winter with a tread over the wheels and skis in the front. Other than that, a snowmobile that had seen better days.

"If you'll head this way," Sergeant Gosset was still showing some major attachment to his rifle as he indicated one of the elevated walk ways. "I'll inform your superiors of your need for backup," he promised Fraser. "You can rest in one of the mens' quarters."

"Oh, that's not necessary." Fraser said.

"I'm afraid it is," Gosset said. "You have to understand that ID or no, I can't have two civilians, one a foreign national, wandering around here."

He was polite but firm as he confiscated Mac's pack and shut them into a bunk room. It was musty and there were no blankets on the bare mattresses. There was a window letting light in, and a communal bathroom at one end of the room, but no other amenities.

MacGyver didn't wait for Gosset's footsteps to die away before trying the door.

"Locked." he said.

"Hmm," said Fraser.

"Hmm?"

"Hmm!" Fraser reiterated. "I'm at a loss for how to proceed. Usually if incarcerated against my will I'd have no compunction in escaping," his brow furrowed, and he worked the door-handle himself as if to ascertain how easy escape would be.

"Right now we might as well sit tight," MacGyver said. "Nothing much to do 'til Gosset calls in back-up." But he felt the uneasiness that was apparent in Fraser's demeanour.


	8. Chapter 7

_There's not a lot to do when you're locked in an empty bunkhouse under dubious circumstances. I could tell Constable Fraser was worrying about the same thing I was. Something didn't seem right about the situation. For one thing it was an odd coincidence, the only other man on base getting sick right now. From what I'd read, the area was so isolated the only infectious diseases came in with new troops and obviously there hadn't been any of them in a while. Maybe it was something in the water. But from my briefing before this job, none of the men stationed here are supposed to drink the water. It's processed and purified but only for use in the machinery and for washing and cleaning. Otherwise, with military efficiency, they're fed juices, fruit and vegetables, which keeps 'em from getting scurvy or general malnutrition too. Still, the guy could just as easily have keeled over from a heart attack for all we knew._

_At any rate, both of us set out with the same idea of searching the room for anything that might come in handy. There was a fair amount of dust on everything. That didn't stop Fraser from crawling on his belly to get under one of the bunks._

Several bunks later and all they had to show for their search was a number of dusty un-matched socks, and a risque magazine from the fifties that made Fraser blush an amazing shade of red when it fell open quite naturally to the centerfold. MacGyver was peering up into the recesses of a set of metal shelves in one corner of the room. If nothing else it'd be something they could take apart to rebuild into something useful if need be. There didn't seem to be any handy odds and ends left behind on it.

It was under the second to last bunk that Fraser let out a muffled "Aha!"

"Find something?" MacGyver asked, as Fraser wriggled backwards out from the cramped space under the bunk, letting out a small sneeze as he did. He was dragging a rectangular box with another small gadget attached to it by copper wire. As soon as he emerged from under the bunk, he sat it in front of him on the floor and wiped it with his sleeve to clean some of the dust off. His face lit up with the excitement of a small boy with a particularly neat toy.

"Do you know what this is?"

MacGyver sat himself down on the floor next to Fraser, his face quickly lighting with the same delight. The rectangular box was a dull metallic grey with dials and switches ornamenting the top. The gadget attached to it was the size of a mouse-trap but much more mechanically convoluted. Not only was the object potentially very useful to them, if Gosset was mixed up with something on the wrong side of the law, but it was also just plain cool.

"Oh yeah, that's a beauty," Mac said, reverently touching the old radio. "I bet it would still run with a little bit of help. Looks like it was built from scratch, not a kit. Maybe in the early sixties, I'd guess."

"If I had to guess I would say it was built for CW transmission and receiving," Fraser said, twiddling a knob on the box thoughtfully. "If we need to use it, that won't be a problem, because of course I know Morse Code."

MacGyver wondered how often that particular tone of know-it-allness had got Fraser beat up as a kid. It was sort of obliviously obnoxious, especially since if Fraser knew Morse Code the way he knew sign language, Mac was probably twice as fluent as him. For all his survival skills and unimpeachable politeness, it looked like Fraser had missed out on a few social skills growing up.

What he said was a simple, "Yeah, me too."

"Well, we might as well see if we can make this work while we await the good Sergeant's return," Fraser said.

MacGyver was happy that whatever the Sergeant's game was, he hadn't actually searched them, so both men still had their Swiss Army Knives pocketed. He was also the tiniest bit smug that his appeared to be a larger model than the Constable's, although this was a juvenile reaction to the Constable's mildly annoying assumption that he was the smartest person in the room.

With both men working at the tiny screws that held the home-built radio together they soon had the case open.

"Well, let's see," MacGyver said, prodding cautiously at the interior of the radio. "Uses a nine volt battery, wanna bet that's long dead?"

"I would assume so, since there is no sign of power to the radio."

"If I had my flashlight..."

"Your flashlight operates with a nine volt battery?"

"Nope, it's got D's, but we could rig something. Looks like the battery connection is pretty corroded, though, we'd have to fix that up."

"Given that we don't know how long Gosset will be gone, and that we don't have your flashlight, perhaps we should delay the project for the moment," Fraser said. "If Sergeant Gosset contacts my superiors then I expect we will both be kept busy with a truly nightmarish amount of statements and red tape shortly."

"And if he doesn't..." MacGyver didn't need to finish his sentence. If Gosset didn't contact the RCMP, the only reason would be that he was playing for the other side. If that was true, they'd have a serious problem.

"Fine," MacGyver said, "It'll be a messy job gettin' that thing in working order again, not to mention breaking out of here and getting our gear back. I guess we can wait a minute to find out if Gosset's on the level." They carefully re-hid the radio and smoothed over the dust on the floor near the bunk as much as possible.

By Mac's internal sense of time it was close to three quarters of an hour including the time spent searching the room before they were alerted by the return of Gosset's steps. He stood up and looked across at Fraser. That was more than enough time for Gosset to radio for assistance. But if the Sergeant was in some fashion involved with the two criminals then it was also more than enough time for the trap they may have walked into to be sprung. Without words, he and Fraser took up positions on either side of the door.

Gosset unlocked the door and swung it open outwards. If he was startled to find his two guests poised strategically he didn't show it. He also didn't step over the threshold of the room.

"Help's on the way," he said. "You must be starving. The food's crap, but it's food. Come with me." The rifle was now slung in an almost friendly way across his back, and he allowed MacGyver and Fraser to follow him instead of walking in front of him like prisoners. They passed through a corridor into another of the overhead walkways, then through a deserted building into a mess hall built to hold a lot more than two people. MacGyver's pack was on a table in the corner, looking like it had been dropped there hastily.

"Kitchen's through here," Gosset jerked his thumb at a door. Fraser went through first and stopped in the doorway. By the time he turned to warn MacGyver, Gosset had his rifle up again.

"Nope, go on through," he said.

Fraser and MacGyver walked into the kitchen. At a metal topped island stood the two fugitives from whom Fraser had escaped that morning, guns drawn. The older of the two most definitely bore a resemblance to MacGyver, if more worn down by time. MacGyver thought the criminal was also infinitely more weaselly looking.

"Yep, these are the guys," the weaselly older one said. He addressed Fraser, "Looks like you're outta luck."

"What are you going to do with them?" Gosset said. He sounded anxious.

"Jesus, Barry. Kill them. What the hell do you think?" the younger one, the one Fraser said was the victim's brother, exclaimed.

"Are you serious, Rob?" Gosset said. "There's security tape of them coming onto the base. Of me letting them onto the base. You want to kill them here? There is no way. You screwed it up, you fix it."

"We didn't screw up!" Rob Patrick said. "You know who this is?" He waved his gun wildly at Fraser. "This asshole is some kind of mystical tracking machine. My brother wouldn't shut up about Ben Fraser, Bob Fraser's son, trained to track by the goddamn Indians and following his Dad's Mountie footsteps. He tracked Keith's sorry ass all the way from fuckin' Old Crow. Jesus shit, you either kill this guy or he tracks you down and brings you in. And I'm not going in. I'm not quitting this until we find those goddamn diamonds John was so smug about."

MacGyver risked taking his eyes off the men with guns and hot tempers to glance across at Fraser. Fraser remained unruffled at the diatribe, although he looked poised to move. With a reputation like that, MacGyver suddenly had an inkling as to why Fraser thought the perpetrator was running from him rather than toward the location of the putative diamonds.

"So find a way to fix it, Rob. I am doing you a favor here. Grunwaldt would shit a brick if he knew you were screwing with the plan this badly."

Keith, Mac's weaselly doppelganger butted in with, "Grunwaldt isn't going to know anything. We get to skim a bunch of diamonds, he gets John's geological surveys and brings in the big machines, everyone's happy. And as for doing us a favor, don't forget that it's a favor you're getting paid for, nicely, too. Keep the fricking government off our ass. Well this Mountie and his pal look like the darned government to me, right enough."

"But not paid to kill people. On a military base. You can't," Gosset said. "Do something else. I mean, I'll help. Get them out of here, say they tracked you toward Alaska, then we can... shit. Do something."

Rob Patrick laughed meanly. "I guess it's true about the Air Force. Bunch of pussies. You too soft to do what you need to? I don't mind taking care of it, if your dick is too limp to get the job done."

"In spite of your odd standards of masculinity, and general disrespect for the armed forces of the United States, I believe that the Sergeant has valid concerns," Fraser interjected.

MacGyver shot him a look of exasperation. It was almost never a good idea to taunt the more psychotic of the bad guys. He should know. On the other hand, inadvisability aside, it placed all the attention squarely on Fraser, giving Mac time to look around and see if there was anything in the surprisingly small kitchen facility that could be used to their advantage.

It looked like it had been set up to be kept neat within military tolerances of precision. Large drawers which must once have been painted a clean white, but which were flaking and battered looking now, sat in steel topped counters. On the inside corner of the counters there was a large industrial microwave oven that looked fairly new. On the outside edge of the counter was the current occupant's food supply, a pile of MREs and assorted junk food. On the low bottom shelf of the island there was a stack of pots and pans covered in the dust of ages. Not a lot to work with.

It was a given that Fraser's polite taunting would provoke Rob Patrick. The mountie had got up to explaining lucidly why killing one of the Mounted Police would bring down the wrath of the entire Force on whoever was touched in the head enough to try it when Rob stepped in to shut him up.

Not ideal, but if MacGyver acted fast it could be turned to their advantage. Rob was angry and unstable. Keith seemed calculating and was obviously capable of violence but kept his temper. Sergeant Gosset had, for what it was worth, ingrained discipline. He would shoot at a last resort, but he wouldn't want to account for his bullets in their bodies. Rob was the right one for Fraser to taunt. A grim calculus, but it appeared Fraser had taken the same measure. Either that or he was just stupendously reckless in his belief that he could talk anyone around.

Apparently he couldn't. Hooray for morons with guns. Morons with large, unwieldy guns in small spaces. Rob stepped in close to Fraser, blocking Keith's line of sight. Fraser was still pontificating, but as soon as Rob swung his hunting rifle club-like toward Fraser's mid-section, Fraser shot MacGyver a glance, his head jerking slightly back toward Gosset, and it was on. It was no longer an inevitably unbalanced match-up.

Gosset was slow to react, clearly unwilling to shoot and with so little space to maneuver that Mac could easily grapple the rifle and shove it away from the fracas, using it to push Gosset back into the kitchen door. Fraser barreled Rob into Keith, taking the rifle right out of Rob's hands and tossing it aside.

Gosset wasn't small and wasn't happy to be pinned against the door. Likewise, as brawny as he was, Fraser wasn't strong enough to keep both Rob and Keith pinned against the island, and Keith had only to break loose and his rifle would be back in play. MacGyver wrenched the rifle in Gosset's hands, jamming the stock up under his chin hard. Gosset's head flew back to hit the door. It was a rough move but there was absolutely no margin for kindness.

MacGyver popped the magazine catch and slid the magazine out of the rifle, tossing it aside. The rifle was a handy blunt instrument and watching Fraser struggle with the two other men he figured he'd need it.

Keith shoved forcefully, pushing Rob forward into Fraser. Rob's eyes were hot with unreasoning rage. His hands, deprived of their weapon, came up to close around Fraser's throat. Fraser looked like he was struggling to breathe and struggling to free himself from the frenzied grip.

MacGyver didn't hesitate in bringing the stock of the confiscated rifle down on Keith's arm before Keith had a chance to work his way free of the tangle and perhaps start firing off his gun in close quarters. The assaulted arm snapped under the force of the blow. Mac did not count Keith out of the fight for that. Fraser had wrenched Rob's thumb off his windpipe, and was administering a well-placed knee to his assailant's groin. MacGyver swung the rifle again, intending to knock Keith out. Gosset's voice from the floor stopped him before he completed the arc of his swing.

"Stop! Put the rifle down and your hands up. You too, mountie."

MacGyver had counted Gosset out too early. Although he was currently making no effort to stand, he was covering MacGyver and Fraser with Rob's hunting rifle that Fraser had tossed aside early in the fight.

Mac reflected that he was going to have a chat with Benton about how to secure a weapon, if they made it out of this in one piece.


	9. Chapter 8

The tussle stopped abruptly with Sergeant Gosset's slurred order. He might be on the way to a mighty headache courtesy of Mac's treatment with the stock of the rifle, but his hands were steady and it was safe to assume that his threats were not idle.

Rob shoved Fraser hard. "Face the wall." he said, elaborating on Gosset's order to raise their hands. "Both of you."

Keith handed Rob his rifle, and Rob prodded Fraser and MacGyver to face a wall of cabinets.

"What do we do with them now?" Keith asked.

"If we're not going to shoot them, then nothing for it but to strand 'em somewhere and leave them to it." Rob didn't sound concerned at the prospect of handling two ornery prisoners with one partner shocky from a broken arm and the other sporting a ferocious headache and a bad attitude towards the situation. "Get up, Barry, and cover them. If you don't want to land in a world of shit for what you've already done you'll make sure we take care of 'em right."

Gosset got to his feet, glaring resentfully at Rob.

"Now, you boys," Rob said, "You will go where I say and if one of you tries to kick up shit, the other gets shot. Won't be ideal to have a bullet in you, but by the time anyone finds the body, there'll be no reason to trace it back to us, you get it?"

He kicked out at the back of MacGyver's leg, seeking verbal confirmation. "You get it?"

Fraser's head turned sharply at the violence against his companion. He was met with a smack across the mouth with the barrel of the rifle.

"You GET it?" Rob's voice raised angrily.

"We get it." MacGyver said. Fraser's hand was to his mouth, blood spilling from a cut lip.

"Where's the best place to dump them?" Rob demanded of Gosset.

"Bring them this way." Gosset said. He held open the kitchen door, his rifle still trained unsteadily on the captives.

Hands in the air, MacGyver and Fraser walked in front of Rob and Gosset. The Sergeant was now, finally, making sure to keep a safe distance between the two men who had disarmed them in the kitchen and the end of his gun. There was no more easy underestimation for Mac and Fraser to take advantage of. There was only a grim silence punctuated by Rob's occasional reiteration of how much he'd love for one of them to do something stupid now and earn his violent retaliation.

The little parade trouped out, Keith useless at the rear but coming along anyway, his broken arm cradled tightly against his chest. They passed back through the mess hall, Gosset directing them in one-word orders, down a corridor, passing into one of the elevated walkways, then out through a building into the open air.

"Keep going." Gosset ordered the prisoners forward. They were headed toward the icy sea.

"There." Gosset said. They had crested a small rise that lead to a pitted crater, rocks softened with age. It looked like it could have been naturally formed by a passing glacier, but it also looked possible that it could have been the result of a man-made explosion many years ago. There was a small pool of murky water in the bottom.

"Take your coats off." Rob said. "It's going to be a damn shame when your bodies show up eventually, couple of men like you being too stupid to dress right for the climate."

Fraser looked across at MacGyver. There was nothing they could do but follow Rob's orders. Neither man was accustomed to meeting danger with passivity.

"Come on, it'd be easy for me to have an accident, have this go off. Might get clumsy." Rob pointed his rifle back and forth between the two men. "Wonder which one I might accidentally shoot. Gut shot would be a real pain out here."

That was enough inducement for Fraser and MacGyver to reluctantly remove their outer layers.

"Put 'em on the ground, slowly." Gosset ordered. "No sudden moves."

They did so.

"Now jump."

Rob fired his rifle just wide of the men, reiterating his earlier threat. The crater wasn't shallow and jumping into cold murky water wasn't safe, but it was better than a bullet in the gut. Or in the back.

The height wasn't dizzying but it wasn't a pleasant jump to make. The important thing was to stick a landing and hope that between the two of them they'd be able to climb out afterwards. Without warm clothing they'd have to get back to the base as quickly as they could, armed men notwithstanding.

The landing was rough for both men. The water was an icy shock, brackish and foul as it splashed up around them. Mac landed on his backside, feeling something give in his leg as he went down. He shut his mouth firmly against the water and blinked it out of his eyes. Rob leaned down to laugh at their muddy descent.

"We'll be back." he said. "Don't go anywhere. Oh, you'll probably be dead by the time we get back, shame about that."

"Are you sure they can't get out?" Keith said, peering over the edge with an expression of worry. Mac thought that the comparison between them really didn't hold up once Keith was under stress. No, they didn't look alike at all.

"You'd have to be some kind of climbing expert to get out of there, and the weather's getting colder. They'll freeze their asses off before they get half way up. I can still shoot them." Keith said.

"No." Gosset said firmly. "This is enough. We can make it look like they just screwed up and got themselves lost. I don't want to have to explain a shooting. No one should be hunting up here anyway."

"Fine, whatever." Rob said. "Let 'em kick it from the cold. I want to get back to the mine site. There just have to be diamonds there, and we're wasting our time here." He sounded surly but resigned, like he'd really wanted to put some bullet holes in them.

"Shouldn't have come for me without backup, Mountie." Keith yelled down sneeringly over his shoulder before walking away.

"Robert singularly lacks his brother's charm, and his choice in companions is unpleasant." Fraser said, rising to his feet rather stiffly and gingerly.

"You could say that again." MacGyver said. "You climb?"

"I have." Fraser said. "Perhaps more than those gentlemen gave us credit for."

He held out his hand to MacGyver, who stood and almost toppled when he tried to put weight on his left leg.

"You're injured."

"Feels like a sprain, the knee." Mac grit out through his teeth.

"Can you climb?"

"I'll manage."

"At least the vigorous activity may go some way to alleviate the chill."

MacGyver shot a glance halfway between amusement and irritation at Fraser. The Mountie was irrepressible. The Mountie might well be delusional.

"If you're injured, I suggest you start the climb first and I'll climb behind you." Fraser said.

"If I fall, I'll take you down with me that way." Free climbing was treacherous, with no safety harness, no rope, there was nothing Fraser could really do to help him if he started to fall.

"Nevertheless." Fraser said firmly. "I insist."

The face of the crater was slippery, the rocks worn smooth and coated with a sheen of moisture. MacGyver examined the wall until he found a good grip to start up. He was going to be putting a lot of pressure on his right leg. A solid climb like this would use strength from the lower body to push his ascent up the rock face, rather than strength from the upper body to pull himself up. It was not a good climb to make with a bad leg.

"Okay, let's go." he said. He gripped on firmly and pushed off with his right leg, looking around for the next hand hold. Slowly, painfully, he eased himself up the first few feet. MacGyver didn't dare look down to see if Fraser was following up behind him. All his focus and concentration were bent on holding on to the slick rocks with fingers that were quickly cramping. A chill wind blew; it wouldn't have bothered him if he was doing what he came out here to do, hiking and collecting water samples in peace and quiet. He allowed himself a brief moment of irritated self-pity before brusquely pushing his hair off his face with one hand and continuing the grueling climb upward. It wasn't that far compared to other climbs he'd made. The more he looked at the surface of the rocks the more he figured this was essentially a small quarry, frozen rock blasted out for some military purpose who knew how many years ago.

Fraser's voice rang out cheerfully behind him. "Keep going! I have every faith that we can reach safety."

That could get annoying fast; but still, MacGyver redoubled his efforts to haul himself up. It wasn't like he'd never had to deal with adverse conditions before. Sure, these were pretty damn adverse, but when the going got tough, the tough improvised the hell out of the situation. As soon as they got to the top he was going to improvise a decent knee wrap, for one thing.

The best sight possible to greet MacGyver as he grabbed the rim of the quarry and made all the muscles across his shoulders and upper back scream was a pile consisting of their outerwear.

"Gosset must have dropped our gear." Mac said to Benton, who was still climbing. "Our coats and gloves are up here."

It gave him pause. Perhaps the Sergeant was dubious about his role in the murder of two men, or perhaps he was merely careless. It remained to be seen which was the case. MacGyver stripped off the shirt that was damp from the landing in the quarry pit. It was useless to stay warm, and the material would make a good knee wrap. He pulled the coat back on, immediately glad for the coverage. It didn't take long out in the arctic temperatures to lose body heat, especially with the sweat from the climb drying on him.

Fraser pulled himself up after MacGyver. He wasted no time following suit in the re-warming department, losing two layers that were compromised with muddy water and replacing them with his sturdy wind-proof jacket. They were both still underdressed for the weather and in damp pants. Fraser stood and surveyed the horizon as MacGyver dressed his knee tightly with the cast-off shirt, trimming down the fabric deftly in spite of the icy state of his fingers.

"We need to get back into the base." MacGyver said, already getting to his feet.

"Yes. Hopefully we will be able to use the extensive communications equipment available to contact backup to apprehend our miscreants."

"And since those miscreants may still be about, we'd better make sure we're not seen on our way in."


	10. Chapter 9

_Benton Fraser brought an intensity to sneaking that would have made things pretty perfect if he weren't off balance and if I didn't have problems putting weight on my left leg. A bad limp makes it difficult to move fast and low to the ground. I figured if we were lucky Rob Patrick and the guy they called Keith were back hunting up fool's gold at their mining site._

_I didn't have any pity to spare for them. They were greedy enough to be all kinds of violent about it, and stupid enough to think that what Rob Patrick's brother had, and maybe was keeping from Rob, was instant riches._

_Gosset's involvement was even more trouble. On top of being involved with violent criminals, it looked like he'd given them the run of a secure military base. I couldn't figure out what made his judgement so bad. Rob Patrick I could guess at, though I might be wrong. Plenty of brothers have come to blows out of envy or greed or plain old sibling rivalry. Keith just seemed greedy. But I wanted to know what it took for Gosset to get in this deep._

_Seemed like Benton was thinking along the same lines. He spoke up as we got back in closer to the elevated buildings._

"I hope that we will be able to make it clear into the buildings without detection, but if necessary, we may have to subdue Sergeant Gosset."

Fraser's voice was low but there was a troubled note to it.

"I cannot fathom how he could betray his country over something so petty," he said.

"Gotta figure he has money problems, they said they were paying him. Maybe they promised him a share of the mine."

"The illusory diamond mine. Such trouble over something they seem to understand so little!" Fraser said.

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." And so is an armed Sergeant of the United States Air Force, MacGyver thought, but didn't say. He was pretty confident that even in their injured states the two of them were more than capable of overpowering Gosset.

MacGyver was aching with cold by the time they made it back under the shelter of the buildings. Fraser wasn't showing any consciousness of feeling the cold. He crept up the stairs to the nearest building, scouting carefully for signs of the opposition.

Mac followed behind him. They crept closer to the building nearest to the giant, curved antenna, moving along the catwalks that connected the buildings. The exterior door to the squat, elevated building was sturdy. Fraser tried the handle and looked back over his shoulder with a frustrated expression.

"I suppose we had better give Gosset credit for this much, he appears to have secured the communications facility. Would you try to open it?"

"Sure, I'll see what I can do."

MacGyver examined the locking mechanism on the door. It was keypad based, and he frowned at it.

"I'm not saying we couldn't get in there, but we'd either need to get hold of the code or make a racket blowing it open," he said.

Fraser bit his lip and looked at the lock thoughtfully.

"If we could dust for fingerprints on the keypad-" he said,

"We'd still have to run all the combinations of all the keys Gosset had touched and hope to hit on the right one fast," MacGyver said. "The system's probably set up to lock down or sound an alarm if we key in the wrong combination too many times."

"True," Fraser's brow creased, giving him an unhappy look. "We'll have to use an alternate means of communication. That old radio that we found in the bunk room, do you really think that we could make it work?"

"Needs some cleaning up, but I think so. I'm going to need my pack. Couple of things from the kitchen, too," MacGyver said. "We can get resupplied so we can move out off the base while we're at it."

"I think that's a sound plan," Fraser said. "As long as our luck holds and we don't run into the thieves."

Luck was with them all the way back to the mess hall. The back of MacGyver's neck was tingling the whole time he dug through the sparse supplies to find items he was looking for. He grabbed a few items and added them to his newly re-acquired pack.

Looking around, he saw the magazine from Gosset's rifle. He added it to his collection.

"You're not planning on acquiring a firearm?" Fraser asked.

"Nope," MacGyver said tersely. "The bullets might come in handy."

"That they might," Fraser said thoughtfully. There were many uses for gun powder and the other constituent elements of rifle cartridges for a creative person. Of course, putting them into a gun and firing it would be the easiest way to approach the problem.

"Are you ready to attempt an approach on the bunk room?" Fraser said as MacGyver finished sweeping the kitchen for useful elements.

"You wanna scout first?" MacGyver said.

"Indeed. Your knee isn't being helped by standing and moving around. Allow me."

MacGyver waited at the door to the mess hall, back against the wall and out of any sight lines.

"The coast is clear," Fraser whispered from outside the door, and MacGyver hobble to follow him, crossing the elevated walk way back to the residential block. Inside the corridors, MacGyver felt safer. Gosset was not likely to see them, though if he were around, he might potentially hear them moving. Fraser wasn't making any audible complaints, but there was a lot not quite right with him as a result of the two altercations with the would-be diamond thieves.

Entering the room in which they'd been held, Fraser quickly got down on the floor to pull out the radio. He unscrewed the loosely turned screws and took the case off quickly.

MacGyver got out his flashlight and some of the items from the kitchen.

"Are you thirsty?" Fraser enquired as MacGyver popped open a can of coke.

"Yeah, I am, but that's not what this is for," MacGyver said. "Figured it'd be the quickest-"

"-Way to clean corrosion off the battery connections!" Fraser said excitedly.

"Uh-huh," MacGyver said. "There wasn't any baking soda in the kitchen, guess they don't have much call for it. This was the next best thing. Lucky someone has a sweet tooth."

"Not a particularly nutritionally sound choice," Fraser tutted, as MacGyver used a soft undershirt from his pack and the coca-cola to clean off years of corrosion.

"What are you going to use to connect the batteries?" Fraser asked.

"Well, since I didn't find any fuse wire or anything like that, I figured I'd keep it simple," MacGyver said, pulling out a ration from his pack, and his knife. "And before you ask, yeah, I'm hungry, but no, that's not why I'm doing this."

Fraser watched, fascinated, as MacGyver cut two long strips and stripped plastic off a piece of the package that had been holding the MRE.

"Oh," he said. "Yes, that is quite simple."

"Should work. Not the greatest conductivity, but good enough." MacGyver said. "This is where gum would come in handy."

"I'm sorry, I don't chew gum," Fraser said.

"Never mind," MacGyver said. There was something that was supposed to be cake in the package, and he mushed it and rolled it between his fingers until it was sticky enough to adhere the strips of foil to the battery connection on the radio. He was careful to make sure that the foil touched the connection, using the paste over the top of it and hoping that it would stay squished down.

Fraser took the flashlight without prompting and lined the batteries up end to end. There were six.

"That should do it," he said. "If you can make the connection to the radio it should be able to pull nine volts from the batteries."

"No problem," MacGyver said. Once again he used the revolting cake as a sort of glue to attach one of each of the wire strips carefully to the ends of the first and last batteries.

"Be sure that you're-" Fraser began.

"Matching the positive and negative terminals?" MacGyver said, shooting a wry look at Fraser. "Yeah, I got that."

"Oh, well, good," Fraser said. "I hope that cake holds."

"I do too," MacGyver said. Gum would have been better, but the clammy substance was showing the properties of paste rather nicely.

"All right, shall we turn it on?" Fraser said, his face bright with excitement.

"Let's give it a go," Mac said, nodding his head for Fraser to flip the heavy switch to turn the home made unit on.

There was a crackle of static through the speaker and a green light showed on the top of the radio unit.

"There!" Fraser said. "Good as new."

"Let's see what kind of signal we get," MacGyver said more cautiously.

Fraser adjusted the tuning knob on the radio slowly. The men leaned over the unit, listening carefully for any traffic.

"There!" MacGyver said. Fraser stopped the dial. Over the sound of static hiss, faint but definite, could be heard the distinct short and long beeps of morse code.

"That sounds like a two-way conversation," Fraser said.

"You up on Q-codes?" MacGyver asked.

"Not as well as I'd like to be, but the operators should understand if just use Morse."

"It'd be easier to break in using the standard language," Mac said.

Fraser conceded control of the radio unit with the air of a child giving over the controls of a precious remote controlled plane.

Mac took the key device, a mouse-trap sized gadget, and started to tap out the letter codes that would act like a standard language for the operators who heard them. He started with the morse for 'BK', to break in, following with a series of "CQ"s, breaking into the morse conversation that was happening on the frequency they'd found to indicate that he was trying to start conversing. He followed this quickly with several repeats of "SOS", to be sure that they'd be heard as an emergency, not just as rude newbies blundering into an ongoing exchange instead of waiting to jump in at the end.

There was a pause, a crackling nothing, no reply, and Mac quickly tapped out the "SOS" again.

This time a response came through quickly, sending a response of "QRZ".

"They want to know who we are."

There was a peeling tape label with raised letters identifying the call-sign of the ham who had built the unit in the first place, so Mac keyed that in, for what it was worth. He followed it with another burst of code - "QTH" - indicating location, followed by "KOMAKUK USAF ARCTIC CIRCLE COPY?"

Fraser was staring into the middle distance listening to the codes and putting them together.

A reply came through in plain morse code spelling out "WHAT EMERGENCY?"

"Tell the operator that an RCMP officer needs backup," Fraser said.

Mac sent the message. He hadn't stopped for the nicety of finding out where the ham on the other end of the connection was radioing out of.

There was a pause again, and Mac could only imagine the operator puzzling over the conjunction of an arctic air force base and the RCMP.

"RPT AGN" came through next.

Mac repeated the previous message. "What's the nearest RCMP outpost I can ask for backup from?" he asked Fraser while they waited for a reply.

"Tuktoyaktuk," Fraser said. "But the closest that would have enough manpower would be Inuvik."

"Oh, good," Mac said. "That'll be easier to spell."

"WILL SEND HELP COPY?" came through.

"C SEND RCMP DE INUVIK COPY?" Mac sent back.

Fraser looked like his mind was going a thousand miles a minute, translating from the morse code bleeps and unfamiliar codes.

"'C' must mean 'yes', and 'DE' 'from.'" he said once Mac was done transmitting.

"Yup," Mac said tersely, waiting for an acknowledgement that help would be coming.

"COPY 73" came through.

Mac sent back "TKS 73".

"That's that," He said. "They said they got the message, and signed off with 'best regards', it's the best we can hope for."

"What now?" Fraser said.

"Keep our heads down and try not to get killed before help comes," MacGyver said. "If help comes."


	11. Chapter 10

MacGyver began wrapping his knee with an Ace bandage from his pack while Fraser opened rations for them. MacGyver shared dry clothes, both men changing quickly out of their cold, wet garments. Mac's clothes were tight on the broader-shouldered Fraser, but at least they weren't adding to his chill.

The radio call for back-up was necessary, but not a satisfactory solution to all of their problems. It was impossible to know whether the ham operator on the other end had taken them seriously, or would be able to get the RCMP to act based on an odd radio conversation.

"I hate to raise the possibility." Fraser said, "But since we have extricated ourselves from our intended certain death, it would be unfortunate if any of the miscreants became anxious to see whether we had perished and came looking for us."

"Gosset seemed spooked." MacGyver agreed. "Either he had second thoughts about killing us or he got real careless leaving our coats lying up there. Either way I could see him going back to check that we were really dead."

"It would seem providential to move from this room, in that case." Fraser said, running his finger over his eyebrow and twitching his hand up as if to fix his hat. "Although there's no logical reason for him to assume that we have returned to it, he may strike upon it simply because it's at the front of his mind, and the base is too big for one man to make an adequate sweep."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Mac said. He almost added a reassuring platitude about the situation. It seemed like the more words Fraser used, the more nervous he was, and the physical tics started coming out. But there was no need to patronize Fraser. Any smart person would be getting worried about the mess they were in.

"Did you have a plan for our next steps?" Fraser said.

"Head to the hangar, check out the trucks and see if we can get off the base."

Fraser took a good look at MacGyver. "Is your leg going to hold up to a walk across the base?"

"I might need a hand." MacGyver admitted.

It was too exposed. Crossing the base sent warning shivers up MacGyver's spine. Fraser seemed to be on edge, too, alert and silent, his gaze the intent focus of the hunter. It was worse than the walk back from the pit. The day was closing in toward early sunset, but it was still light enough to silhouette the two men against the expanse of sky.

The vehicles on the base were kept in a large sheet-metal hangar. Its function was obvious due to the presence of a runway in front of it, and the road leading through the base. There was a service door in the back of the building as well as the wide entrance for the trucks at the front. It wasn't well secured and took no more than a few minutes to break into. A quick search found a switch for overhead lights.

"Looks like we've got our pick of transport," Mac said, looking around at a collection of trucks similar to the one they'd ridden onto the base in. "Better make sure that Gosset won't be coming after us though."

"As reluctant as I am to damage property belonging to your government, I believe that if we disable as many of the vehicles that remain in the garage, we can make some headway off the base in one that we leave whole."

"Sounds good." Mac agreed, "should be a simple enough job to disable the trucks."

He popped the hood on the nearest truck and unscrewed the distributor cap. Fraser watched as MacGyver removed the rotor and held it up.

"Now these we'll want to take with us if we don't want Gosset to just come along and put them back in."

Fraser nodded, and set about sabotaging the truck nearest to him. Even contending with Mac's limp and Fraser's aches and pains the men worked through the base's trucks quickly, wasting no time in gathering up the rotor arms. They left one untouched near the front of the hangar.

The sound of a helicopter broke the relative quiet of the base, washing in over the ocean's steady beat with its own pulse.

"It sounds as if backup has arrived more quickly than I hoped," Fraser said. He rushed to the front of the hangar and moved to slide the heavy door out of the way.

"Hang on there," MacGyver said, grabbing Fraser by the arm to pull him back into the shadows of the hangar before he could open the door more than a crack, "we don't know that it's backup."

As the helicopter landed, Gosset ran out from one of the base buildings, taking the stairs down from the overhead walkways two steps at a time.

"No insignia on the chopper and Gosset looks like he was expecting it," MacGyver said.

A man descended from the helicopter and began talking to Gosset. From the vantage point just inside the hangar it was clear that the conversation was not friendly. The status of the new arrival was clarified when the man from the helicopter pulled a gun and shot Gosset at close range. He fell with a heavy thud to the ground, blood pooling around him.

"Not backup," Fraser said after a long moment of stunned silence.

"Yeah, not backup. That might be the Grunwaldt who was paying Gosset off."

The shooter kicked Gosset's body, his own body language betraying annoyance. He leaned in to the helicopter to talk to the pilot, who swung down to join him on the ground. The shooter gestured toward the residential buildings and above ground walk-ways, and the pilot nodded and drew a pistol from a belt holster. The two men split up and moved toward the buildings.

"It's a shame. Gosset seemed as if he were merely led astray and could be rehabilitated," Fraser said.

"As opposed to the man who just shot him," MacGyver said sarcastically.

Fraser shook his head, as if clearing unpleasant thoughts from it. "Well, we can't safely remain here now," he said. "If we take the last truck, do you think we can make it off the base?"

"Those two are both armed and don't seem to mind killing. Could be rough," MacGyver replied. "We might make it off the base without them shooting out a tire and then shooting us, or we might not. We'd be better off if there's something else keeping their attention."

Fraser turned his attention to possible diversions. Faced with concrete danger, he seemed less nervous than when they were playing hide and seek with the unknown threat of Gosset's return to the base.

"We do have cans of gas and the rifle cartridges," he said speculatively.

MacGyver's brow creased. He was not opposed to making a spectacular bang, provided that it was controlled enough to distract without causing too much damage to the delicate arctic environment.

He pulled the rifle cartridges out and weighed them in his hand.

"Give me one of the gas cans, one with not too much fuel in it," he said. Fraser handed one over. It was three quarters empty.

MacGyver unscrewed the lid and dropped three of the cartridges in. It took quite a bit of energy to detonate a rifle cartridge, whether it was percussive from the firing mechanism, or in this case, energy from heat. From previous experience he knew they'd make a lot of noise and the can would amplify it. On the other hand, the exploding can would also make dangerous shrapnel.

Taking out his knife, Mac cut an x-shaped hole in the plastic lid of the can.

"We need a fuse, some fabric."

Fraser supplied a t-shirt from his pack. They were going through clothing at an alarming rate, what with bandaging, cleaning, fuses. Mac cut strips from the shirt and knotted them together, feeding them through the hole in the lid of the can. He made a decent length fuse, not trusting the device not to blow up in unpredictable and nasty ways.

"Where do you think we should put that?" Fraser asked.

"Out the back of the hangar," MacGyver said. "Less chance the blast from it catches anyone. I can't calculate the radius of the explosion. Hopefully it'll be enough to get their attention."

"I can set it up if you get the truck ready to go. Can you drive with your knee?" Fraser asked.

"Sure," Mac said. "Better than I can walk."

He would have preferred to set the explosive up himself, but time was pressing. Instead, he levered himself up into the cabin of the last un-sabotaged truck, and got to work hot-wiring it. It didn't matter that it was an unfamiliar ignition system. The feel of the wires in his hands and the intuitive leaps based on other times he'd done this were reassuringly familiar sensations. The dash of the truck had a fine layer of grit on it, but the gas gauge showed a half tank.

There was a tense half minute waiting to spark together the two wires that would fire the ignition. Fraser must have matches or a lighter from his pack, and surely he wouldn't have volunteered to ignite the bomb if he didn't know what he was doing. But still, what if one of the new arrivals happened to walk around the back of the hangar? Or if Fraser messed up and got himself blown full of shrapnel from the can?

"Go, go, go!" Fraser's voice rang crisply from the back of the hangar. He ran toward the truck and threw himself in the passenger side door, wheezing slightly and holding his ribs. MacGyver sparked the ignition and floored the gas. The truck should hold up to slamming through the closed door of the hangar. As the engine revved the fuel can went up with a clamor of sound, the waves of explosive force shaking the truck. The initial noise of the blast and the loud pop of the cartridges made a painful assault, like standing right in front of the speakers at the loudest imaginable rock concert. The crash and crunch of the truck meeting solid door and powering through was drowned out by the sheer volume of noise reverberating off the curved radar tower.

MacGyver kept his eyes on the road, the lumbering truck moving at the highest speed it could reach. Human nature said the two men who'd arrived in the helicopter would spend some time gaping at the explosion and trying to figure out what was happening.

But even if they were distracted for long enough to drive the truck off the base, with the helicopter they could be up and after MacGyver and Fraser in no time.

"Aim for the tail rotor," Fraser said, gripping onto the roof of the truck through the open window. The sun was on its way down, but the stark lines of the helicopter stood out in silhouette against the landscape.

"The truck's already messed up from crashing the door," Mac said. He had seconds to make his choice, steer to avoid the chopper and possibly end up with it in pursuit, or steer to clip the tail and risk wrecking the truck.

"It would be prudent," Fraser said. "It's our best chance of evading pursuit."

MacGyver judged he was right. They risked more by leaving the helicopter intact than by ramming it. He yanked the wheel, steering the beast of a vehicle to the left, in direct collision course with the thin tail pylon.

"Get down!" he yelled, ducking and bracing with his head toward his knees as the truck hit the helicopter. His foot stayed on the accelerator as the truck took the impact and rocked back, metal squealing on metal. It was a jarring collision, no matter that they had anticipated and braced for it.

MacGyver sat up and yanked the gear shift into reverse, spinning the steering wheel to pull them free of the mess. The windshield was made of some sort of rigid, sturdy plastic. It hadn't shattered but it wasn't hanging in the frame right any more. Fraser leaned up from his seat to punch it out of the way, groaning as it took a few tries to unseat it completely.

Fraser tumbled back into his seat as Mac swerved the truck to clear the end of the damaged tail rotor. The truck was handling worse than ever, jolting and grumbling. To add to the ambience of the moment, there was the sudden crack of gunfire and pinging as bullets ricocheted off the back of the truck.

_Author's Note: We're winding down to a thrilling conclusion. The pace of serialization is currently limited by how crazy busy my summer is, and I thank you all for your patience! I trust that a crazy busy summer now will yield fruit in writing inspiration later._


End file.
